


Poison

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra faces an unexpected enemy, one that she can't can't engage in battle with her sword. But she doesn't face it alone.</p>
<p>Cassarric, but you can take it as platonic if you really want to. Lots of angst. Basically pure H/C.  Mainly H, actually. Ouch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

It was only a shallow cut, not deep enough even to scar, but it only took Cassandra a few minutes to realise that something was terribly wrong.

The darkspawn had surrounded them in the dank cave, expected but still unwelcome, and the ensuing fight had taken place in the dim flickering light of the single torch the Inquisitor had managed to light before they were ambushed. The darkspawn were the reason they had come to the Storm Coast – privately Cassandra had decided she’d be quite happy never to see the wet, miserable place again as long as she lived – and clearing out the pockets of them that sprang from the warren of underground caverns was becoming a chore.

So it was sloppiness on her part perhaps, overconfidence on top of the poor lighting and the slippery ground that made her move a split second too late when the rusty edge of a darkspawn blade sliced through the sleeve of her right arm and bit into her skin. She cursed loudly and swung her sword in a slightly ungainly fashion to cleave the thing’s head off. A few yards away Solas had frozen the last remaining genlock solid, and the Inquisitor finished it off by the simple expedient of kicking it until it fell over and shattered. The rest of the cave was already littered with bodies. The fighting was over, but the damage had been done.

“You alright Seeker?” came Varric’s voice from behind her, and she turned to see him frowning in mild concern. “Thought I saw you get hit there.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, a little ashamed that Varric had apparently been more aware of what her opponent was doing than she had. She covered her arm with her other hand instinctively as the Inquisitor and Solas approached, which only served to make the wound more obvious. She sighed at their inquiring expressions. “Just a scratch. I was careless.”

They seemed to accept this without question, and Solas turned to start blocking the open passageway through which the darkspawn had come by levitating boulders to seal the dark entrance. The Inquisitor wandered over to where she had stuck the lit torch into a cleft in the wall, and started to use it to light the old braziers they had set up last time they were in the area. Presumably she had the intention of using this cave as a campsite again. Cassandra did not relish the idea, but at least it was drier than outside. She kept her left hand clamped over the cut, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding soon enough. She had enough experience of such things to know it was far from a serious wound, but it _did_ hurt, and her right arm was starting to feel oddly...heavy. Blood loss? Surely not, it had barely scratched the surface, and besides, that usually made you feel cold, not the strange aching heat that was now starting to spread to her shoulder. Any infection would take much longer than this to set in. She carefully peeled back the fabric of her sleeve to have a look at the cut. Oh.

“Solas?” she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. “Would you mind coming over here for a moment?”

Clearly her feigned nonchalance had not been at all convincing, since the Inquisitor and Varric both immediately stopped what they were doing and joined them too. They all looked in silence for a moment at her arm. The cut hadn’t bled much at all, but it was puckered and strangely shiny, and thin white lines were spreading out from it in delicate traceries across her skin.

Solas glanced up at her. “May I?” He pressed a finger gently on her arm and muttered few words, his eyes closed. Cassandra tried not to wince at the touch. Solas opened his eyes and removed his hand carefully.

“Poison,” he said, rather unnecessarily.

The Inquisitor was pale. “It’s not...”

“Not the blight.” The group let out a collective breath, but Cassandra couldn’t help but notice the grim expression remaining on Solas’ face.

“What is it then?” she asked, trying not to let the panic seep into her voice, the dull insistent throb in her limb more noticeable with each passing second.

“Something I’ve only seen a few times before,” said the elf. “An old poison that was used by some of the Dalish clans long ago. I have no idea how the Darkspawn would have...but I suppose that is a question for another time.”

“But it’s treatable, right?” said the Inquisitor, a touch of desperation in her voice.

“Yes, though you’re lucky I’m here, I doubt most would even recognise it for what it is. I believe I can make an antidote, but we’ll need certain herbs...a lot of them, in fact. And they are not native to coastline. We’ll have to go further inland.”

As if of one mind, they all started to gather up their packs from around the cave in haphazard haste, Cassandra doing so one-handed. But when they reached the entrance, Solas frowned and held out his hand for them to stop. “No. Cassandra should stay here.”

It was so unusual for Solas to give orders that the others just stared at him.

“I assure you Solas,” said Cassandra, “I am quite capable of—”

“You are now, but you soon won’t be,” cut in Solas. “I mean no disrespect Seeker, but time is of the essence in this case and in a few hours you will barely be able to move, let alone walk.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, and she could only nod mutely. The Inquisitor now looked downright terrified, and even Varric was unusually grim faced.

“Very well,” said Cassandra, throwing her pack to the ground with perhaps unnecessary force. “I will wait for you here.”

The Inquisitor grimaced. “If you’re going to be incapacitated, we can’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll stay with her,” said Varric. “You’ll move faster without me anyway.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Death might be a preferable option,” she muttered under her breath. The Inquisitor shot her a ‘don’t-joke-about-things-like-that’ kind of look, but nodded her assent to the plan, and she and Solas disappeared swiftly out of the cave into the driving rain.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Cassandra and Varric stood there uncertainly, neither of them used to a situation where there was nothing they could do to help.

Eventually, Cassandra settled back against the most comfortable bit of cave wall she could find, using her bedroll as a cushion and trying to assume an air of nonchalance. She could feel Varric watching her, so in a deliberate and utterly pointless gesture of defiance she took a book from her pack and started to read. A quiet noise of amusement told her this wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t try to engage her in conversation, and when she essayed a brief glance up a few minutes later he was sitting cross legged on the floor, writing, with paper balanced shakily on a book of his own for a smooth surface. Typical. Good, actually. The last thing they needed was to be forcing themselves to socialise under such circumstances and start sniping at each other as usual.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of his absorption. Her own book was one she’d read before (not one of Varric’s, she still had some pride left) and it wasn’t compelling enough to keep her mind from wandering. She had to read each sentence several times for it to sink in; her mind kept drifting back to the look on the Inquisitor’s face as she left, the grim tone of Solas’ voice and, a constant inescapable reminder, the pain in her right arm. The dull ache had already become something closer to a burn, the tendrils of fire creeping past her shoulder. Cassandra could feel sweat pricking her forehead. She knew how to deal with pain, but sometimes the anticipation of it was almost worse than pain itself. On top of that there was the leaden feeling of dread in her stomach that she had been trying to ignore, a little voice in her head that kept reminding her that Solas hadn’t said anything about _lasting_ effects, that this was her _sword arm._

Sweet Andraste, if she lost the use of her sword arm, what good was she? To the Inquisition, to anyone?

Cassandra tentatively raised her arm a little to check how much movement she had, and let out an involuntary hiss of pain, dropping it quickly as spikes of hot agony shot from her limb across her chest, robbing her of breath. Varric looked up from whatever he was writing, frowning.

“You okay, Seeker?” he said.

“Fine.”

He looked at her appraisingly for a long moment, then shrugged and bent his head over his paper again. Cassandra let out a deep breath, cursing herself for vanity. Who knew how long the Inquisitor and Solas would be gone. She would be lucky indeed if all she lost today was her sword arm.

 

* * *

 

 

She had been very, very wrong. The pain was far worse than the anticipation.

Just a handful of hours had passed and it felt like acid was churning through her blood, sharpening every nerve ending to an exquisite, agonising point. She wished Varric had left with the others, that she was alone so she could _scream_ , scream and scream until she had no breath left, tear at her skin with her fingernails and pound the stone floor with her fists.

But he was there, and though her body might be falling apart, her pride was a skin of iron and she would not make a sound. She gritted her teeth.

Whether she had inadvertently made a sound, or it was just instinct, Varric had clearly noticed she wasn’t doing well. He kept glancing up at her, and presently put his paper away in his pack, stretching his arms as he got up off the floor. He sat again down beside her, far enough to be respectful, but close enough that it was obvious he wasn’t planning on being deflected.

“You look like hell,” he said bluntly, and when she didn’t respond, continued in a rather more gentle tone. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Cassandra felt a sharp retort rise up in her throat, she wanted to lash out, snarl and swear at him just for being there. She bit back the impulse. He would not be offended, he would understand, he would be patient and reasonable and sympathetic and that would make it a thousand times worse.

“No,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse and strained despite her best effort. “Actually yes. Distract me.”

“How?”

“ _Anything_.”

He nodded, and with barely a pause started on a long-winded story about a time Hawke convinced a Qunari mercenary sent to kill her that the stray dog she had taken in had magical powers, and ended up in front of the Knight Commander accused of harbouring a canine abomination. He was as good a storyteller as ever, keeping the pace flowing, holding the moments of suspense just long enough, changing the inflection of his voice with each new character introduced. The tale was almost certainly exaggerated to the extreme, but it was an entertaining one, or would have been under other circumstances. Cassandra let the words wash over her and focused on breathing evenly and blocking out the senses of her body as best she could. This had been a part of her training; to ignore physical discomfort, to learn to think of her body as a separate thing, a tool that could be broken and rebuilt, but would not define her by its limitations.

When Varric finished relating his anecdote, he moved smoothly onto another, this one quite clearly invented, involving Isabela, three apostate mages and a rigged game of Wicked Grace. How he came up with these things Cassandra would never know. He was probably enjoying the fact that he now had an almost literally captive audience, she thought uncharitably. Still, she always had enjoyed his stories, even if it seemed she only heard them under terrible circumstances. The thought came to her, clear even through the pain, that it was a shame. Her every interaction with Varric was defined by necessity, desperation, fear. To her, he had come to represent things going horribly wrong, which wasn’t really fair since none of those things were actually his _fault._

He probably felt the same way about her. After all, his life since they had met had not exactly been easy – she had dragged him halfway across the world, away from everyone he knew and into the centre of another war. No wonder he didn’t like her much.

But still, he was here. And he was doing what he could, even for her. That was worth something, worth a lot more than she had given him credit for, perhaps.

 

* * *

 

 

Time passed slowly.

Cassandra was flat on her back now, the cold rock of the cave floor an ineffective distraction from the agony wracking her body. It took as much effort as she had left just to keep still, knowing despite what instinct told her that movement would not lessen her suffering. Varric was still beside her, though she could no longer see him from where she lay, only hear his voice, the words no longer holding much meaning as she drifted in and out of awareness. From what she could gather, he was now reciting an abandoned idea for one of his romance serials, an adventure that the Guard Captain would never have outside of his own head. Knowing how little regard he had for that particular series, it was odd that he would make the effort to remember the story at all. Or perhaps he had just run out of other things to talk about.

He was holding her hand, she realised. Any other time she might have been offended at such unthinking familiarity, but right now she would take the small comfort for what it was.

A sudden spasm of pain lanced through her, making her let out an involuntary gasp and her fingers instinctively clench Varric’s hand tightly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“You’ve got quite a grip there,” he said. “I’ll take that as a good sign.” When she didn’t reply, his tone softened. “Hey, you still with me?”

She nodded, forcing herself to remember how to speak. “I will forget most of this, I think,” she said. You’ll have to repeat it all to me at some later date.”

There was a pause. “Count on it, Seeker.”

 “Sorry if I hurt your hand.”

“Oh yeah, I’m the one who you should feel sorry for right now. My pain is devastating.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Varric.”

“Was that a dwarf joke, Seeker?” She could almost hear his grin. Cassandra choked out a laugh, and instantly regretted it as every nerve in her body screamed at her. A sharp curse escaped her lips, and she struggled to master the pain again, to clamp it down to a manageable level.

“Continue the story,” she managed, her voice biting out the syllables with difficulty. “Please.”

“Of course,” said Varric.

 

* * *

 

 

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because when she awoke again the cave was noticeably darker. She tried to work out what this meant in terms of time passing, but her mind felt scattershot, concentration impossible. Her head was fogged with exhaustion and the relentless ache in her blood. The pain was less than before, but now she felt as weak as a child, barely able to lift her arm from the floor. The attempt clearly yielded some small movement however, because she heard the shift of Varric beside her, and his voice breaking the silence:

“Are you awake?”

“I think so,” she replied blearily.

“I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for you to sleep or not,” said Varric. “But I figured you could probably use the rest.”

“What time is it?”

“Not sure. They’ll be back soon.”

Even in her current state, Cassandra could recognise a comforting platitude when she heard one. She was also very aware of the rare edge of worry in Varric’s voice. For the Inquisitor or for her?

“You do not have enough supplies to stay here for long,” she said. “If it takes more than—”

Varric cut her off firmly. “Cassandra. They _will_ be back soon.”

She felt her lips tugging into a smile, the sensation quite alien. How long had it been since she’d smiled? Since she’d felt the sun on her skin? Since there had been anything but the cold stone floor and the pain, absurd in its incessancy? Hours, days, years? This place was her life now, trapped inside herself, anchored only by his hand, his voice.

“I like it when you call me Cassandra,” she murmured.

There was a pause, then Varric chuckled. “I hope you’re enjoying this moment of honesty Seeker, because you’re really going to regret this conversation later.”

Cassandra frowned. “No I won’t,” she said vaguely. It was important, for some reason, that he understood this. This was an important thing. Maker, the fog in her head was so _heavy_. “I didn’t regret you. Not for a moment.” She made an effort to turn her head to the side and tried to focus on him, a familiar blurry shape. “You were a good thing, in the end. I was wrong about you, and right as well. You stayed. I regretted a lot, but not that.”

“Careful, you’re slipping into the past tense there.” Varric’s tone was light but the implication was not lost on her.

“Not past,” she said firmly. “Not yet. There’s too much to do.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Varric, and squeezed her hand gently. It was a small, careless intimacy that for some reason made her want to burst into tears.

 

* * *

 

 

Whether she slept again she couldn’t be sure. Sometimes she thought Varric talked, sometimes she forgot he was there altogether. Sometimes she forgot she was there too. The pain returned in fresh waves and she was aware that she screamed this time, but it was distant, unimportant, as if happening to someone else. Her suffering was beyond language, beyond comprehension. Day or night, she no longer knew. Cassandra just wanted it to _end_ , not caring how any more. And it would be over soon, she could feel that much.

“I did what I could,” she murmured, shape but no sound to the words from her dry lips, words to salve the guilt at her own surrender. As final words they were pathetic, but perhaps apt. “I did what I could,” she said again, and this time it was stronger, a last defiance. She heard Varric’s breath hitch beside her. Perhaps he had thought her beyond speech.

“You’re doing fine Seeker,” he said gently. “Just try to rest.”

“I did what I could...didn’t I...I tried. I tried to set things right.”

“Past tense again, Seeker,” and now there was no humour left in his voice. He sounded exhausted. Poor Varric. To stay here and watch her die slowly in this damp, horrible place, and then wait alone for who knew how long for the others to return. For all their past bad blood, she wouldn’t have wished that on him. She had no sympathy left for herself, only resignation, but she could spare some for Varric. Who would have thought that he of all people would be the one with her at the end? It was strange to find the prospect didn’t bother her as it once would have. But that was unimportant now.

“Don’t let them fail,” she said unsteadily. “Don’t let them fall. Promise me...”

“You are not giving up,” said Varric, as if he could convince them both. “It’s not your style, Seeker. You’re going to kick this thing’s ass like you always do.”

“I’m _tired_.”

“I know.”

But he didn’t know, he couldn’t. She felt now as though the world itself was pressing heavily on her, the poison had flowed through her veins and left her empty, a shell clinging on to the vestiges of life. The pain had hollowed her out, and now she felt as if she were floating within it, on the edge of something else. She opened her mouth to try and explain it to him, the strange clarity that came on the other side of suffering, but found she couldn’t speak any longer. Her vision was darkening again, but she was just about aware of Varric’s voice, low and desperate.

“We _need_ you, Seeker. None of us would be here if not for you. Please don’t....Seeker? Cassandra?”

She could feel his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently, then cupping the side of her face, perhaps feeling for the steady beat of life beneath her skin. She wondered if he’d find it. His hand was warm, and gentle, and then it was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra awoke to the absence of pain.

Every easy breath felt like a miracle, she blinked her eyelids, flexed her fingers and there was nothing. She was free.

“ _Oh_ ,” she sighed, a sound of pure bliss falling unbidden from her lips. If this was death then she’d accept it gladly, duty be damned. And then as she sat up, marvelling at the easy movement of her body, the Inquisitor moved into view and crouched down beside her, smiling widely.

“You’re awake!” she said, somewhat unnecessarily. “Solas said it probably wouldn’t be long.”

Reality re-asserted itself. They were in still in the cave. She was alive. The Inquisitor was back, thank the Maker, not dead or lost on some foolish errand for her sake. Cassandra heaved a sigh of relief.

“Solas’ antidote worked then, I take it?” she said.

“Yep,” said the Inquisitor, scrambling to her feet and helping Cassandra up. “He’ll be glad to see you up and about too. He’s just gone out to get some food, our supplies are pretty low.”

“Where’s Varric?”

The Inquisitor nodded to the far corner. “Resting,” she said. And sure enough when Cassandra turned, she saw Varric propped up against the wall of the cave, his coat draped carelessly over himself as a blanket, clearly fast asleep.

“His concern is touching,” she muttered.

The Inquisitor gave her a strange look. “He waited to see that you were going to be okay, then he was out,” she said. “I get the impression he didn’t get much sleep these past two days.”

 “Two days?” It had felt like weeks, but the Inquisitor misunderstood her amazement.

“It took us longer than we expected,” she said. “Solas and I ran into some trouble with bears.” She gave a wry smile. “Missed you then. Frankly, Solas wasn’t expecting you to still be alive when we returned. You’re tough as old boots, you know that?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Old boots?”

“It’s an expression my grandmother used to use.”

“Not a very flattering one.”

The Inquisitor grinned. “Glad to see you’re back to your old self. You were completely out of it when we got back.” Her grin faded. “At first I thought we really were too late. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. From what I gathered it can’t have been much fun; when we arrived Varric looked nearly as bad as you did, and all he had to do was watch.”

Cassandra felt almost as if she had been watching herself, the terrible suffering now almost unimaginable in the light of a new day. Still, hazy though some of the last two days were, she remembered enough.

“It was...not a pleasant experience,” she said. “Let us leave it at that.” She meant to ask what their next move was, whether they had managed to get word back to Skyhold of their delay, but the words died in her throat when she noticed Varric yawning and stirring out of the corner of her eye. The Inquisitor followed her gaze and muttered something about going to start up a cooking fire outside now the rain had stopped. Cassandra gave her a brief grateful nod and headed over to Varric, sitting down beside him a little awkwardly, not wanting to tower over him as he awoke.

“Varric?” she said quietly.

“Thought I heard your voice Seeker,” he murmured. Pushing off his coat, he ran a hand absently through his hair as his eyes blinked slowly awake, shuffling himself into a more upright position. He turned to look at her properly, and the genuine smile that spread across his face was extraordinary, a rare, warm thing, and something tightened unexpectedly inside Cassandra’s chest.

“Feeling better?” he said drowsily, although the answer was already plain.

“Yes, the antidote appears to have worked. Solas came through.” She paused. “As did you. Thank you. For staying with me. For...everything.”

“Any time, Seeker.” Varric frowned. “Actually, scratch that. Let’s never do it ever again.”

“Agreed.”

There was a long silence in which Cassandra thought of a hundred things she should be saying, and somehow could not bring herself to say a single one of them.

“I should go and find Solas,” she said finally. “You should rest.” She got to her feet quickly, trying not to look as if she was running away. She was halfway to the cave entrance when Varric spoke.

“Cassandra.” She stopped abruptly at the sound of her name on his lips, silently cursing the way her heart was suddenly pounding against her ribs. She turned back to see him staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. Her breath caught in her throat.

Varric smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

Cassandra nodded and turned away, not quite sure that she was.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this was far more grim than I intended it to be but I guess um...the ending was happy?? Sort of??
> 
> OK right next time shameless fluff I need to give these two a break.


End file.
